


Tis the Season for Sneezing

by MissSteph22



Category: Alvin and the Chipmunks - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Implied Alvittany
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 15:23:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11293419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSteph22/pseuds/MissSteph22
Summary: Christmas is only a matter of days away, and people are getting more excited. But, for one chipmunk, it feels like he's beginning to slow down. For about a week, he has been battling the dreaded symptoms of a cold. As luck would have it, Alvin wakes up on the 23rd of December feeling sick. Will he recover in time for Christmas Day? 80s cartoon-verse.





	Tis the Season for Sneezing

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This festive oneshot was written as part of a request. I hope you enjoy! :)
> 
> P.S. - The Chipmunks and Chipettes belong to Ross Bagdasarian Jr. and Janice Karman.

* * *

December 23rd usually sees the intensity of Christmas double, with shoppers frantically pacing the aisles for last-minute gifts, and children dreaming of the big day with much more vigour than before. Movies and special editions of much loved programmes are aired on television, fuelling the fire even further. An exciting time for many, but for one chipmunk, he felt himself begin to slow down.

"I don't feel so good," he said, clutching his stomach as he woke on the eve of Christmas Eve. He could barely say his words properly, for his nose was blocked. For about a week, Alvin Seville had unknowingly been battling a cold, albeit minor. It began with sneezing, which to nobody seemed a concern, that was, until he started sniffling. Sniffling escalated into a runny nose, and that runny nose escalated into a blocked one. He would wheeze when he did something that required energy, and he found himself clearing his throat a lot more often. He said nothing of it, imagining that it would disappear before Christmas. But, waking up as he did, the regret of remaining silent felt heavy on his shoulders. Or rather, his stomach.

"What's wrong Alvi-" The green-clad chipmunk didn't even get a chance to finish before his brother leapt out of bed - hand clasped over his mouth - and ran out of the room. Theodore recoiled in disgust as he heard the sound of retching coming from the bathroom. A few minutes elapsed before Alvin reappeared at the doorway, breathing ragged and hoarse. He was followed by their father.

"Alvin, what's the matter?" Dave asked, putting a hand on the chipmunk's shoulder.

"I... I feel sick." He rubbed a hand over his stomach and rested against the doorframe.

"Oh dear, you don't look too good. Come on," he led his son back to bed. "You need to rest. It sounds like you've come down with some kind of stomach bug."

Alvin groaned at the thought of being bedbound, but didn't put up much of a fight, letting Dave pull the covers over him.

"Is he going to be okay?" The youngest chipmunk looked over at his bedridden brother, concern etched across his features. "Will he be alright for Christmas?"

"He'll be fine," Dave said. "As long as he stays in bed, he'll recover quickly."

Satisfied with that response, Theodore left the room and went to eat breakfast. Dave followed once he was sure that Alvin was tucked in and comfortable enough. This left only Simon and Alvin in the room. The bespectacled chipmunk had been observing his brother's movements, and the way he would let out a feeble sigh whenever he moved. At this, he rolled his eyes.

"Simon," Alvin croaked, tilting his head to face him. "I... I think I'm... dying."

"You're being melodramatic. It's _one day_ in bed at the very most." Simon shook his head, changing into his blue sweater. "It's not the end of the world."

 _It feels like it_ , Alvin thought, the churning feeling in his stomach refusing to subside. Theodore's question kept repeating over and over in his head. What if he didn't get better in time for Christmas? What was he to do? Sit up here alone when everybody else will be exchanging gifts and having Christmas dinner? Part of him silently screamed at the thought.

"You're... you're good with science. Don't you have a m-miracle cure or... or something?" His blue eyes instantly shone at the prospect, only for his hopes to be dashed at the response.

"As much as I'd love to help you out, I'm afraid my scientific capabilities don't quite extend to miraculous cures for ailments such as yours."

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the chipmunk let out a tremendous sneeze. Blinking his eyes open, he realised that he had a slight problem.

"Hey," he called out to his younger brother, staring at his hand. "Can you fetch me a tissue?"

Wrinkling his nose, Simon reached into his schoolbag for a spare pack of tissues and tossed them over. Leaving the room, the blue-clad chipmunk hoped for a speedy recovery. He wasn't sure if he could deal with a sick Alvin.

"You do realise that going outside without a jacket is what's caused this, don't you?"

"You've always been sympathetic, Simon." He coughed for emphasis.

* * *

It was lunchtime when Alvin woke again, not even realising he had fallen back to sleep. His stomach was still giving him hell, and he could only breathe through his mouth. He scanned his surroundings. Well this was boring. He wanted nothing more than to be outside playing in the snow, or watching his favourite Christmas movies. Instead, he was holed up in his room, forced to recover from whatever it was he had. A knock on the door caught his attention. The chipmunk watched as Theodore walked in, a tray with a bowl placed atop it.

"Hi Alvin," he said, voice perky and light. Bet he had a swell time doing whatever he wanted today. "I brought you something to eat. It might help you."

He brought the tray closer and set it down on the bedside table. Alvin craned his neck to have a look inside the bowl, curling his lip at the sight of its contents.

"It's broccoli. I hope you like it."

"Yeah..." The eldest chipmunk's stomach rumbled again, the thought of having to eat the soup in front of him repulsive. "Why can't I have what you guys are having?"

"Soup is one of the best things to eat when you're sick," Theodore said matter-of-factly. "I also brought you some water."

Alvin was paling. He wasn't made for such bland things, but he nodded anyway. The sooner he recovered, the better. Begrudgingly, he sat up and sat the tray on his lap. With a grimace, he took a spoonful of the soup, making sure to swallow it so that Theodore would see that he's eating the soup and leave him be.

The moment the bedroom door was closed, the chipmunk considered putting down the soup, but realised that if this was the only food he'd receive, he might as well eat it. Oh, he hated being sick.

* * *

"Come on, Alvin. It's just one spoonful." Dave sighed wearily as he dangled a spoonful of medicine in front of Alvin's mouth. "It'll help."

It was evening, and the chipmunk had just finished a plate of toast - unsatisfying, considering his mouth tasted vile - and another glass of water. Now, sure that something was definitely wrong after hearing his son throw up for the fourth time that day, Dave decided to give him medicine.

"I don't want to," he mumbled, turning away from the offending liquid.

" _Alvin_ ," Dave warned, pushing the spoon closer to Alvin's face. Frowning, the chipmunk accepted the spoon and hastily slurped its contents, shuddering at the vile, bitter taste of the medicine. If anything, perhaps it would lift the headache that had been steadily increasing throughout the day.

* * *

"I have a favour to ask," Alvin croaked, his voice much heavier and frail than it was hours ago.

"Here we go," Simon remarked to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had a feeling, as much as he cared about his brother's health, that he would eventually take advantage of this.

"In case something happens to me through the night, I want you guys to write down my... my..."

"Please tell me you're not asking us to write what I think you're asking." Simon was dismayed.

Bedtime had arrived fairly quick, and as the Chipmunks were settling down for the night, Alvin - who was wheezing with each inhale - panicked.

"Alvin, I'm fairly positive that you'll make it until tomorrow. Go to sleep." The bespectacled chipmunk turned off his bedside lamp and put away the book he was reading.

"But I-" He sniffled, wiping his nose with his pyjama sleeve.

"You're fine."

"Here Alvin," Theodore said suddenly, setting down a bowl of hot water next to his eldest brother's bed. "This is supposed to help. I heard that it clears your head."

"Thank you, Theodore," Alvin replied weakly. "You're a... good brother." He made sure to glare at Simon, who was in the process simultaneously rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

* * *

When he opened his eyes, the world felt fuzzier than usual. Cold sweats were gathering on his body, and he heard a distinct drumming in his ears. Alvin turned, and saw Theodore's empty bed, spare for a teddy bear sitting near the pillow. Its beady little sewn-on eyes bore into him, the stitched smile growing the longer the chipmunk stared at it.

"You're awake? I was wondering when you were going to wake up." His father's voice echoed across the room, bringing him out his dream-like trance. Shoes clicked against the floor until they halted by his side. "How are you today?"

The question stumped Alvin. How did he feel? The good news was that the urge to vomit had passed; the medicine must have worked. But the exhaustion that had taken over his body was overwhelming. All the chipmunk wanted to do was close his eyes and sleep again. He mustered all his strength to respond.

"N-not too good." Dave observed that Alvin's eyes were half closed, and scratched his chin.

"Maybe I should call a doctor..."

"No..." The chipmunk silently winced at the thought of more medicine and people looming over his bed.

"Well, I'll be keeping an eye on you anyway." With that, Dave left the room. It was when he left that the thought of today being a new day struck Alvin. _Christmas Eve._ His heart sank. If he didn't recover today, then it was a sure thing - he would have to spend Christmas Day in bed. Thinking about it made him want to weep.

* * *

"He doesn't look too good, does he?" The green-clad chipmunk was standing watching a sleeping Alvin, his pale face alarming him. His closed lids were shadowed with deep purple rings. It was late in the afternoon, and after much deliberating, Dave allowed Simon and Theodore to see their brother - he was sure that Alvin needed his sleep and couldn't be disturbed.

"I don't know how it's possible. H-he's actually gotten worse somehow." Simon looked concerned; the house was very quiet - too quiet - without Alvin bustling around. Who knows what tomorrow would be like if he couldn't celebrate it with them. Much of Simon's day had been spent down in the basement, trying out different chemical combinations for a cure. Nothing had come to fruition, which disappointed him.

"Do you think he'd eat if we try giving him something?"

"It's hard to tell. This is the most unpredictable bug I've ever seen someone come down with."

"Oh," Theodore whispered. Kneeling down beside Alvin, he put a hand on his shoulder, which was covered with the duvet. "Please get better soon Alvin."

* * *

Putting the bowl down, Alvin marvelled at how for the first time in days, he was able to taste the soup that had been made for him. Evening had come, and he didn't feel as tired. Hey, maybe he stood a chance after all.

He heard voices coming from downstairs - feminine voices. The Chipettes must be here, probably singing carols with his brothers. How can they? What's a song without Alvin Seville? The bedroom door suddenly opened, and the first thing to hit him - bizarrely - was the strong scent of perfume.

"Alvin?" It was Brittany. "I heard that you were sick. How are you?"

"I've had better days," he sighed, slinking back into the sheets. The strawberry-blonde chipette came closer, and furrowed her brow.

"People are worried about you," she said, studying his features. He really did look like he'd had a rough time, stuck in bed for this length of time. Her voice softened. "Do... do you think you'll be better for tomorrow? It _is_ Christmas Eve, after all."

The chipmunk struggled for an answer. He couldn't make promises - for all he knows, he could wake up tomorrow feeling worse than ever. Instead, he looked back at his counterpart, her soft features slowing his frantic thoughts down. The corner of his mouth tugged into a smirk.

"You know what would help? A kiss." He wiggled his eyebrows playfully. Taken aback, Brittany blinked. She frowned.

"What, and catch _your_ germs?" She folded her arms. "I don't think so."

After a moment of chuckling from Alvin, the chipette gazed sympathetically at him. His forehead had a thin sheet of sweat, and his breathing was still hoarse. Sighing, she brought her hand to her lips, and placed her kissed hand on Alvin's cheek.

"Hopefully," she began, heading for the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Alvin whispered, resting a hand on his cheek.

* * *

Simon and Theodore were sitting around the tree, wrapped gifts in their hands. It was early in the morning, but neither cared - it was Christmas Day. Theodore was just about to tear off the neatly wrapped paper on his present when a voice suddenly interrupted the scene.

"I hope you guys weren't about to start without me." Alvin was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, smile on his face. The colour had returned to his face, slightly, and he didn't sound nearly as ill as he did in the days prior to today. Dave, Simon, and Theodore all smiled back as the eldest chipmunk joined in with the festivities.

There wasn't a chance he was going to miss Christmas this year.

**Author's Note:**

> Aww, slightly cheesy ending! Sorry if this feels rushed in any way. I hope you liked it though! :)
> 
> Peace, love, and COOKIES! ~ MissSteph22 x :)


End file.
